Dwori Drabbles
by FrankieSunflower
Summary: These were written as a present for obscureculturalreferences over at Tumblr. We occasionally sail on the same ships, but I don't ship these two - this is just a present.
1. Chapter 1

HERE, HAVE SOME BROTHERLY DYNAMICS

_Balin and Dori discuss._

'I'm not trying to cast dispersions, and I know it is not my place to protest. I have only the greatest respect for Dwalin as a warrior and a dwarf, and I am as certain as you are that he has honorable intentions regarding Ori.' Sort of. It was hard for Dori to tell if Dwalin had any sensitivity left under all of those scars and frowns. 'It is simply a matter of age and ... well, to put it bluntly, Dwalin is at least twice Ori's size. Simply as a matter of logistics, it cannot work.' Dori was going to add, to press the point, that whenever Dwalin and Ori slept side by side, Ori all but vanished into a mass of fur and muscle. Whether that was _why_ Ori liked to sleep next to Dwalin was entirely beside the point. But that was where he chose to hold his tongue.

'I feel your concern on Ori's behalf,' Balin replied, measuring his sentences. 'And I agree that there certainly are many differences between them. But had you considered, my dear fellow, that therein lies the compatibility?'

Dori paused. 'I'm afraid I don't grasp your meaning,' he admitted doubtfully.

'Ori is young, and exceptionally enthusiastic in his support of our leader. Which is why, when you and Nori cannot be there to watch over him, an experienced and patient partner like Dwalin would be ideal.'

Dori nodded guardedly. The thought had crossed his mind, though he had hoped to be able to dispel the suggestion. Hearing it spoken out loud made that harder to do.

'Dwalin, in turn (and I say this in confidence, I hope you understand, Dori) was once in danger of becoming entirely embittered by the life we've been made to live, forced onto the road and subjected to countless deaths and sufferings. But your brother has offered something Dwalin thought he had lost many, many decades ago.'

'And what is that?'

'Simple, meaningful affection. A chance to preserve some of the hope and innocence left amongst us.' Then, briefly, it was Balin's turn to pause.

'A home.'

Dori let the silence settle on them, shifting his wooden bowl from hand to hand and twiddling his spoon. Across the fire from them, Dwalin was sharpening one of his twin axes, and Ori was alternating between wolfing down mouthfuls of stew and reading over notes in his journal. If either of them had noticed their elder brothers sitting together or the quiet conversation they were having, they did not show it.

'I hesitate to accept their relationship on the grounds that it is for Dwalin's sake, and Ori's safety,' Dori murmured. 'It is simply not enough for me.'

'You're forgetting the reason they set out to bother us with their romance in the first place, friend,' Balin said, smiling wanly. 'They're already in love.'

Dori looked again across the fire, just in time to see Dwalin brush Ori's foot with his hand as he propped one axe on a log, and picked up the other. Ori glanced up at the same moment, and when their eyes met, there was a silent exchange. Quiet fondness. Hope and innocence.

A moot point it was, then. Disapproval amongst dwarves could build unbreakable walls, but love amongst dwarves could hollow out mountains.

Dori fought down a snort, and turned stoic attention to his food. Balin's wan smile remained.

Ori and Dwalin slept side by side that night.


	2. Chapter 2

DRUNKEN ORI

_Because this one really doesn't need essplainin'._

Singing, like the braiding of hair and the sharing of everything from food and drink to military support, was an important part of being a dwarf. Some, such as Thorin, saw music as a sombre thing, while some, such as Bofur, saw it as a bonding activity, and therefore applicable to every situation. Some (read: Fili and Kili), saw it as just one of many ways to tease or make fun, and some, such as Bombur or Balin, used it as a way of growing closer to others.

There were a rare few, like Dori and Nori, however, who seldom ever sang or played music unless pressed to do so.

'Don't you know any songs by heart, lad?' Dwalin asked Ori. Bofur was all but skipping along the long wooden table the Master had offered them, wooden pipe in his hands, and it was hard to hear one another over the ruckus in the room. But, for the first time in weeks, they had a quiet corner to themselves. Ori still smelled a little of whatever had originally been in his barrel, and Dwalin was still working cramps out of his legs, but they were no longer imprisoned, or in a forest surrounded by giant spiders, and they were so close to the mountain that Dwalin could almost smell dragonsmoke.

Ori, in response to Dwalin's question, shook his head, which caused him to sway on his feet a little. He cradled a flagon of ale, and it was not the full one he had been holding a few minutes ago, which likewise hadn't been the full one he'd been given in the first place. Dwalin kept an eye on the lush, but there was only so much he could do without holding his hand flat over the top of Ori's drink.

'No-one ever taught me,' Ori said, though Dwalin had to pay close attention to hear the slurred words clearly. 'My mum doesn't sing, and Dori doesn't sing, and we didn't even see Nori for years before we heard about the king's intention to take back Erebor. I juss never learnt.'

Dwalin weighed up the options. He could lead Ori back to the sleeping quarters they'd been given and tuck the lad in to bed, which would risk a small drunken quarrel at worst, and ensure that his young dwarf got a good night's rest. Or, he could let Fili and Kili drag Ori out of the corner and leave him to the mercy of a rarely, but blissfully, merry company of dwarves.

Well. At least this way, he'd learn how to sing.


	3. Chapter 3

MPREG FIC

_Because, yeah. I'm not sorry._

'I don't have to excuse myself to your brother,' Dwalin muttered as Ori cooed to himself (and the little dwarf-to-be currently inhabiting his belly) in front of the cupboard. 'And I don't have to wear any bloody knitted cardigan to appease your mother either.'

'She knitted it especially for you,' Ori insisted. Although, even as he held it up by the shoulders he couldn't really imagine Dwalin wearing it, even if he (by some miracle) got his husband naked at sword point in front of a cliff in the middle of winter.

As if sensing the levels of grump in the room, four knee-high bundles barreled in with their little practice clubs, squealing a battle cry, and set about hammering at Dwalin's legs. The distraction was enough to silence the disagreement and send Ori bending at the knees and waist, gripping the edge of the cupboard in one hand and holding his swollen belly with the other, in fits of giggles.

'O-ho! Careful, lass,' Dwalin said, picking up Sori, the eldest, by her ankles. 'I'll be needing those kneecaps.'

With his other arm he bundled up the twins, and with his foot he lifted tiny Mori and deposited him in a basket. Sori climbed down Dwalin's arm and joined Ori at the cupboard, while Dwalin set about trying to find an out-of-the-way place to put his other two children.

'It's your family that's het up about you being constantly up the duff,' Dwalin said, resuming the "disagreement"; Ori had banned the word "argument" from their home since the kitchen knife incident two days before. He would not let the subject drop until he was sure he'd won. 'It's not my fault you keep getting pregnant.'

'Well I can't imagine who else's fault it would be,' Ori snarked. Sori had grabbed the knitted item of clothing from his hands while he was preoccupied, and had wriggled into the trunk. On her small stout body, it gave the impression of an oversized dressing gown, and she tripped three times while making her way back over to Dwalin.

'We could always let Sori wear it,' Dwalin suggested, watching her wobbling approach while the twins battled between his elbow and shoulder. 'That'd make your old mum happy. You know she's got a weakness for her favourite granddaughter.'

'Maybe she'll have another granddaughter soon,' Ori mused aloud. 'Or maybe we'll have another son. Sori likes being the lady, and the boss.'

Sori veered off mid-journey to help Mori out of the basket and, as Dwalin sat down on a chair to manage the twins, they each climbed up his legs. It was then that Ori turned, and was greeted with the sight of his mighty warrior husband, an identical little black-haired dwarf on each shoulder, Mori on one knee, and Sori wrapped up in her father's knitted monstrosity on the other. He sighed. Dwalin did too, before rolling his eyes.

'Come over here, then.'

Ori was halfway across the room when he froze, both hands going straight to his middle. Dwalin stood abruptly, catching Mori and Sori by the backs of their nightshirts (the cardigan slipped off Sori's body and flopped to the floor like a dead thing) and went to Ori, concern twisting otherwise perpetually grim features.

'It's alright,' Ori said breathlessly. 'It's … Dwalin, feel.'

Dwalin shifted Mori into the same hand as Sori, and placed his hand flat on Ori's belly. A wonderfully, beautifully familiar sensation beat against his palm.

'He's a busy one,' Dwalin murmured, tracking the fluttering and gentle thumping.

'Definitely a boy, do you think?'

'Either that, or a dancer. Or maybe a little shield maiden.'

Ori smiled knowingly. Sori was showing promise with a club, but at present it seemed to be because she wanted to take responsibility of teaching Mori and the twins. When left to her own interests, she picked up Ori's papers and inks and drew pictures of dragons and eagles and wargs. But Dwalin was hoping, and growing insistent upon, her becoming a warrior just like her papa.

They stood together like that for what felt like an age, until finally, the children escaped Dwalin's loosening grip, and had to be gathered for bedtime. With the help of the nurse, the two expecting parents put the children to bed and were able to retreat to their own. Dwalin, unexpectedly, rested himself further down with his head next to Ori's belly, listening to and stroking the swollen expanse of skin. Ori propped himself on the pillows and smiled.

'If you really want to settle this matter about my family and the babies, you could just try talking to them yourself.'

'Every time I do I get told off,' Dwalin muttered, following the energetic kicks coming from the baby with his fingers. 'Suppose, we give it a rest. Get this one out, then not have any more children for a while. If only to shut your mother up.'

Ori thought quietly about the proposal, for so long that Dwalin lifted his head from Ori's belly just to make sure he wasn't being met with silent disapproval.

'I am happy with the kids we've already got,' Ori eventually said. 'And if you like, I know a way of stopping me from getting pregnant ever again.'

Dwalin raised his head with interest.

'We sleep in separate beds.'

Dwalin dropped his eyebrows, but not his head, in a show of stern disapproval. Ori pursed his lips and shrugged.

There had been a time when one scowl from Dwalin would have had the younger dwarf cowering in a corner, but now it barely frightened his children. He really needed to go into battle again, before he lost his warlike countenance. At least Ori hadn't ever made him feel old, or past his prime, though Dwalin had been privately concerned about that at first. If there was only one thing that pest of an older brother had right about their partnering, it was that there were a whole lot of years between Ori and Dwalin, with Dwalin solidly on the grey side, and Ori solidly on the young-enough-to-do-better side.

But when Dwalin had mentioned it one night, in a split second of vulnerability (which he just as quickly regretted), Ori had raised his eyebrows and let his mouth drop open as if Dwalin had confessed to having fleas. Then, blessed boy, he had gestured to his own heaving, exhausted body, covered in light bruises and sweat, and said, 'if you were any better, you'd have bloody killed me.'

Dwalin pulled himself up to the pillows and let Ori burrow into him, restless unborn child tucked into the middle, little kicks now touching Dwalin's own scarred and solid belly. He buried his un-soldier-like grin in the top of Ori's head and felt the pleased hum that always escaped when Ori felt nurtured and cossetted.

Maybe two more kids, and then they'd stop. He could deal with Ori's blasted mother in the morning.


	4. Chapter 4

THIS IS THE OBLIGATORY CUDDLE STORY

_Because cuddles is third on the list of things I read fanfiction for, after smut and good writing. Hints of Bagginshield, because Bagginshield._

_Consider this pre-slash._

Ori's shivering could have been for one of three reasons. Dwalin listed them in his mind.

Reason one, most likely: it was very cold. They were resting now on a brutally solid mattress of rock, and the altitude of the carrock put them close to the cloud line. There was a light wind that seemed to circle them unavoidably. Many of their blankets and bedrolls had been lost in the goblin caves. It was cold enough that Fili, in all his furs, didn't have the heart to push Kili away when his younger brother inched over to share warmth. Even Thorin was making no secret of choosing to take that hug one step further, and envelop their stunned hobbit in a comforting, and probably very warming, embrace.

Reason two, plausible: fear. They were very high up, and all the time that Ori had spent in a mountain, he had spent it _under_ the mountain as was customary and befitting, not anywhere near the summit or the slopes. Additionally, the group had barely had a rest since first getting captured in the caves. When they weren't being prodded or attacked or groped by goblins, or trying to run and fight and keep track of each other all at the same time, they were running from wargs, frantically climbing trees, throwing flaming pinecones and, especially in Ori's case, hanging fifteen thousand feet from the ground with little to no hope of climbing back up or getting rescued. Until they were, by enormous eagles, at which point Ori surely must have assumed he'd died and gone to hell.

Reason three, not quite so plausible: Dwalin.

As previously mused upon, Dwalin wasn't the only dwarf sharing warmth out of desperation. The whole royal family had first set the example of snuggling for warmth, to the point that facetious Bofur had all but climbed atop his brother and cousin and was using them as a mattress, on the pretence of offering himself as a blanket. Balin, Oin and Gloin had modestly set themselves out in a row, flat on their backs and side by side, in a defeated kind of compromise. Out of a sense of propriety, Dori had flattened himself against the rock wall shielding them from the worst of the frigid breeze with Gandalf on his other side, sitting up on first watch. Years of behaving suspiciously had taught Nori to isolate himself in moments of restfulness. That left poor young Ori lost in the middle, unsure of who to turn to, and out of exasperation, Dwalin had reached up from where he lay and tucked Ori into his side like a pup.

Ori could handle an admirable amount of pressure. Dwalin had not seen him break yet, nor had he seen him cry, or run. Ori would pick himself up and carry on, determined as he was harmless-looking in his knitted clothes and child's weaponry, as if he was absolutely sure that he hadn't seen the worst of it yet. All of his moments of seeming hapless had occurred in moments of quiet, like this, when he looked so small and unprepared that Dwalin wondered why his brothers had brought him on this mad trip in the first place.

And then he thought of Ori firing a rock from his slingshot into a warg's eye, refusing to speak along with the others when the goblin king had demanded it, even under threat of torture, or declaring at the dinner table that he would give Smaug the Terrible a taste of dwarvish iron ("right up 'is jacksie"). This was no childlike fool that he held to his side. He could even feel a little bit proud of Ori, he thought, if he was in any place to claim ownership.

But he wasn't. He was old Dwalin, a great fighter, a reliable and decent dwarf, he thought, of noble birth and good repute. But he was past his best years in regards to courting, younger years which he had spent bloodying the battlefields and roaring and warring and drinking and mourning friends and family. He wouldn't take those years from Ori. He wouldn't waste such a promising dwarf's chances, or his time. And yet …

A shudder at his side brought Dwalin out of his morose train of thought, and he remembered what he had been thinking of before. Was the young one afraid? No. No, he did not think it was fear. All there was to fear had been left behind, for now.

'Still cold, lad?' he asked quietly.

Ori shook his head.

Dwalin looked at the stars for an answer, and they gave him none. So, in the end, he did what he always did, and he went with his instincts. And his instincts told him to roll over so he was facing Ori, and hold him close, and let the young fellow react in whatever way he saw fit.

It seemed, for tonight at least, Ori saw fit to press his face into the warm hollow between where Dwalin's neck ended and his shirt and crossed belt began, and as if lulled by their slow shared breathing, the shivering stopped.


	5. Chapter 5

MULTIPAIRING FIC

_Because Bagginshield and Dwori work on the same principals; little cute guy gets absorbed into manly muscular dwarf love and never escapes. _

Rolling over and focusing on Bombur's snoring was previously all that was needed to block out the awareness of what Thorin and Bilbo were doing around the corner. Usually, if they weren't visible, it wasn't happening, as far as Dwalin was concerned. But the pair had become more and more reckless since escaping the elves, even though everyone had been a bit sore about the barrel part. The fact that, in Laketown, King and consort had had a warm bed and a whole room to themselves for several nights in a row had only aggravated the situation. Now, on their way to the Lonely Mountain as it all but towered over them, Thorin was either intoxicated by how close they were to their goal, or they had always been this regular and Bilbo was just losing the ability to keep his voice down. Whatever the case, it was keeping Dwalin awake.

He wished there was something he could say or do to chastise the King without going against his personal code to follow Thorin's every decision with a friend's loyalty and a subject's trusting obedience. Unfortunately, Thorin had never been told off once in his entire life, not by his stern and revered sister, or by his father or grandfather when they still ruled Erebor. Dwalin doubted he had ever seen a chastised Thorin. When he had grabbed Bilbo in a rare display of uncontrollable affection, that was the only moment Dwalin had ever seen him apologize, let alone go back on his judgment.

He cursed his acute warrior's hearing for the tenth time that night, and stood and stretched. On his other side, Ori remained notably still and silent. If there was any sign that he was awake and uncomfortable, it was that. Ori snuffled and murmured when he was asleep, and often responded to Dwalin moving away by following him with paw-like swipes on his hands until curled fingers landed on skin or beard or leather or blanket. Even over the curve of his shoulder and in the dark, Dwalin could catch a glimpse of red as Ori blushed furiously, trying in vain to block his ears to the awkwardness hanging over those still awake, who mercifully numbered only four; Dwalin and Ori, and the quietly sputtering brothers who were supposed to be keeping watch.

One sharp look from Dwalin made Fili and Kili turn around, shoulder to shoulder as they tried to dissolve the tension that came from knowing that their uncle was getting his rocks off just out of sight, by sniggering about it.

Furtively, Dwalin looked back down at Ori. Still as stone. And blushing. Dwalin did not see Ori blush often, but he'd be lying if he said it wasn't a pretty sight. He didn't blush splotchily like most young dwarves, but fully, right across both cheeks and his straight nose, a deep rosy colour.

They hadn't done much. They hadn't had a _chance_ to do much, save the night that Ori had snuck into Dwalin's room in Laketown - a bold, and more than exciting, move that had had Dwalin rewarding him handsomely - and ordinarily, Dwalin would not think of making a move with the rest of the company sleeping a few feet away. It was inconsiderate to Ori, in the way that there were very few intimate acts that could be comfortably carried out in the wild with only a blanket between them and the dirt. Not to mention indecent.

But, quite frankly, if the King was allowed to make that much noise and still be the most respectable member of the company, then to hell with decency.

Dwalin double checked that Fili and Kili were sitting with their backs to him before kneeling down next to Ori and whispering a suggestion in his ear. The only reply, at first, was for the sweet rosy blush to rapidly deepen, and for Ori to hunch up a little more where he lay. For a moment, Dwalin's offer appeared to have been rejected, and he resigned himself to bear it in his stride for the next few days by seething. But then there was a twitch. Ori rolled onto his back, and nodded.

The two of them stole into the underbrush before the brothers had time to turn around, but Dwalin still heard the incredulous sound Kili made when he noticed that they, too, had gone to take care of business out of sight (but, Dwalin was going to ensure, not out of earshot, especially not of a certain dwarf and hobbit who were surely going for some kind of record).

Ori caught Dwalin unprepared when they stopped on the other side of a thick hedge by pouncing onto his front, wrapping both arms tightly around his broad shoulders, and pressing warm sloppy kisses against his mouth. Abandoning his instinctual impulse to keep quiet, Dwalin let loose upon Ori, and let himself be surprised by what came to the surface when that meek and shy surface was torn away.

Come morning, Dwalin felt he finally knew what a chastised Thorin looked like.


	6. Chapter 6

FEELS FEELS FEELS, or, THE MARRIAGE PROPOSAL

_Because__.__ Shh, my love. Don't fight it._

There was quiet shock when Dwalin asked. He watched for a readable process of response in Ori's face the way he did when faced with an opponent, only now he was looking for acceptance, approval, instead of a weak spot or a hesitation. Ori was unreadable. Or, rather, Dwalin was unable to read him.

Maybe he had misread some signals. Maybe, the courtship hadn't lasted long enough. It had been a long courtship as far as Dwalin was concerned, but to be fair, most of it had occurred in between bouts of life-threatening danger peppered with elves and monsters and starvation and weariness and an awful lot of running, walking and fighting for their lives. Maybe they needed a bit longer.

But, Dwalin couldn't take it back now. The offer was made, in the moment of sad victory, in the postwar scramble as each army searched out their respective dead and mourned the ones they'd found. In the moment of rest as night deepened, and Ori had been sent to lie down after his knees gave out, and Dwalin had taken him to a soft area of grass and a bedroll under a makeshift tent and here they were with Ori curled on his side, Dwalin's hand clutched close to his chest and Dwalin sitting up beside him.

When Ori did move, it was to reach up and grasp for the large buckle of Dwalin's belt, pulling him down. Dwalin, wordlessly understanding, lay down and held Ori as close as he could without crushing him.

'Yes,' Ori whispered. It was muffled against Dwalin's chest, but he heard it clearly enough. All the same, as if unsure Dwalin had heard, Ori repeated it, again and again, and it was after the fifth or sixth time that Dwalin realized Ori was crying.


	7. Chapter 7

THE SMUT FIC

_Because I never realized how hard it was for me to write fanfiction without writing smut … until I started writing these_.

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ENJOY YOUR BLUE BALLS


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